Home Poem by Paul Reed

With brave faces set against the blast
We tread the rain-spattered coast,
With tightened grip we hold on fast
And cling to this fierce host;

On this harsh and unforgiving ground
Ruffled feathers of seagull flocks,
There is no bleached idyll to be found
In these storm-scraped rocks;

But the crashing sea clears the head
The chilling air sweeps and restores,
The stark moon climbs the stars to it's bed
Over these silvery shores;

Where the seas crash and winds blow strong
The whipped-up sands amassing,
This is what we have, where we belong
Home-bound footprints mark our passing,